I'm not a mentalcase, I promise
by Can'tThinkOfaUsername
Summary: Set when the Fitch family moves in with Naomi. Emily can't cope with Naomi's betrayal, with her family falling apart, with her life changing all too fast and all too soon. This is an account of her mental breakdown.  possibly a little AU in parts


You'd seen breakdowns in films again and again. It wasn't exactly something you planned to emulate but all the same, there was something oddly attractive about it or at the very least, alluring. The gorgeous characters and their knights in shining armour rescuing them from tragic pasts and twisted fates. They were all oh so _beautifully _broken, so _heartbreakingly _screwed up, so ellusive, so well cloaked in mystery and beauty that you almost thought it would be quite nice in a twisted sort of way...going out of your mind. It's not nice. It's not even close. No programme can do it justice, no glamourisation will work because this, this can't be glamourised. It's too rotten for that. It's too messed up and too upside down and too inside out.

and oh, Emily, _darling_, please try and act normal, it's not good for _James _to see you like this and she still whispers his name even though he's staying at a friend's. You're getting angry now. You want to hide even more because you know what's coming next. and yes, it's just as you anticipated, it's oh-so-patronising as ever, and _sweetheart, _listen to your mum, you were fine before she came along. and the tears keep coming and she keeps talking. You were more than fine, Emily, you were perfect. You and your sister, perfect little girls. She's not good for you, she's not good for _us, _for the _family._ and oh yes, she's making perfect sense now, isn't she? It all makes perfect sense- your little brother watches porn, because you like girls. Your dad's gone bankrupt, because you like girls. Your mum's kicked your dad out, because you like girls. You want to scream at her, to go off into one of Katie's fuming rages, to tell she's _wrong_, she's _wrong, _she's _wrong_ but all your energy's gone.

It's not nice, breaking down- when you're not in a movie, that is. It's shaking and not being able to stop and your breathing going all funny. It's physically backing into a corner, wanting to hide, wanting to bury your head under the bedcover only she won't stop looking at you. You used to never cry and now you just want to _stop_ crying but you're too sad. People are a little scary when you want them to go away because they won't, they just won't. Your thoughts don't make sense, they're too dark, they're not you. Or maybe they are you. Maybe they're the squished up pulp, the excretion of all your lies and avoidances, all your 'fine, thankyou and you's, all your silence.

You want them to stop shouting, to stop swearing every time they see you, telling you you're _really bloody mental _and to _snap out of it._ You want them to tell you it's all ok and you know that it's not but you want them to say it anyway. because maybe a lie feels better than nothing at all.

It goes on for hours on end and your mind is becoming harder and harder to bear. Sympathy lasts merely minutes before the 'tough love' kicks in and the yelling starts and the _i give you five minutes to get out of this room or i'm calling a doctor _begins because it's not normal to get this low but you don't need a doctor, you need _her_ but that's not it. no, you just need things to be back to the way they were before. Doctor's can't do that, can they? They're only human. You know the threats are empty and you want to get up, you want to shake this cloak off but it's stuck, superglued onto your skin, permeating every monoamine of serotonin. You listen to the yells and they're trying to help you, you're scaring them and you try to drown them out and it doesn't work. They get tired. They give up. Your mum, Katie, Thomas, even Naomi, even after what she did. Everyone always give up. That's the thing with people. You can't trust them, can you? They screw up and they lie and they hurt you, they hurt you hard. and you love them. That's the problem.

They leave and you're glad but you want them back, you don't like the lonliness, you're scared and of course, they never come. They're asleep, let them be, why did you have to become such a night owl anyway?

and how did it get like this? How did you get this...bad? This was never you. You were the quiet girl, your grades were excellent, your life calm and structured. Yet your stories were untold. All tied up in a great big knot and your brother was in the scouts once...he couldn't unravel this though. No, this was too twisted and besides it was stuck. All stuck in your clammy little heart and frayed at the edges.

Your skin is hot and sore. It hurts and it hurts your head too. The pain in your head is a different kind of pain to your scratched arms and your bruised thighs. It's an annoying feeling, it's irritating- it just . won't . go . away! and well it's really just a bit of an inconvenience now, isn't it? Wait, why are you doing this? Your head is hurting again. Look at your arm, stop scratching your arm, they'll notice soon and what are you going to say?

You want her to hold you. You want her to make it stop, make it stop. Only she's not there. This. This was all for her, all because of her and yet she's all you want. That's a little screwed up, you know it is. You're a little screwed up, you know you are. You just want her to hold your hand and stay with you until you're normal again. You _are_ normal. You're normal. You're normal, aren't you?

You sit in the dark and Sophia slips into your mind and maybe just for a second you begin to understand. Trust. It's like a magician's trick, the one that goes wrong. You're crockery, perfectly poised on an ivory tablecloth and everything's lovely. The weird part is, the magician already has what he wants. He wants you. He wants the crockery, perfectly poised and perfectly fragile, perfectly intact. Only this magician, he wants to test the water. He's convinced himself that this crockery, this crockery he really wants is too good for him- he won't deserve it until he tries something else, until he's pushed it to its limits, until it withstands his trick. Only then will he accept that what he has is real. and he knows perfectly well that his trick could break the crockery, could send it crashing to the floor, smashed into a thousand irreparable little pieces. and he tries it anyway. because you don't know what you've got till it's gone and then it's too late.

You sit in the dark. The sheets are sticky and clammy on your red skin and yet you're still shaking, still hurting yourself and you don't even understand why. Momentarily, your mind and your aching body are separate, you're all jumbled up. Your breathing's still not right. You're empty, emptier than you'd ever thought it was possible to be yet simultaneously, you're full, so full you're bursting at the seams. Your tight tight knot is fraying even more and you're stuck as ever. You just want it to all be ok again, to be normal again. You just want her, need her. You love her, really, you do.

What you had, it was a kaleidoscopic sort of love. A colourful whirl of colours, of _fantastic_ colours. It wasn't happiness, it was _euphoria_. Yet somewhere amid the alluring array was a stream of blurred lines, of tainted vision. What you had, it was your dreams all sprawled out, weaving their way into your everyday life so that they took the place of reality. and what is reality anyway?

You don't notice but somewhere along the lines of the darkness and the hurting, you lull yourself into a deep, delayed sleep, your face still wet with a mess of tears and your bruises still there for the morning's realisation.

and in your dream you dream of her because that's the way it works. because she caused this. because she hurt you. because she made you screw everything up. and because you love her, awake or dreaming, you love her, you do.


End file.
